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About the Author
"If you are missing cocktail bars, New York City before the shutdown or simply pellucid and startlingly intelligent poetry, Three Poems is a book for you . . . Her frame of reference is effortlessly wide . . . The small, pointed brushes that artists use are known as 'brights'; Sullivan seems to own one hundred thousand of them. Sometimes she dips them into mascara, other times into blood . . . You follow this writer where she wishes to take you. She is a poet of steel shavings, of semidetached feeling, of unexpected links and impieties and unpropitious implications. She's writing criticism of daily life -- criticism of the state of her own soul."
--Dwight Garner, The New York Times Book Review
--Diego Báez, Booklist (Starred Review) "Sullivan's voice has a suppleness that canters within the formal constraints she imposes on it... She's an exquisite image-maker and analogist."
--The New York Review of Books "Three Poems is a richly rewarding collection that shows all the confidence and skill of a poet writing in their prime: it is hard to believe this is a first book."
--Paul Batchelor, The Spectator "A magnificent debut . . . Assured, cool, and anthropological in its focus on a life lived via distinct stages and in discreet contexts. The elasticity of her poetic gift--the sheer range of what she can make language do and say--coupled with formal mastery, ensures we'll be reading this collection for years to come."
--Citation for the 2018 T. S. Eliot Prize "Hannah Sullivan's majestic debut offers three big pictures--birth, coming of age and death--but this isn't a triptych. Instead, these themes extend across the book, with the poems acting as a set of transparencies that enlarge and complicate one another . . . Her authority, reach and ambition are exhilarating. Her metaphorical scope is that of the internet."
--Lavinia Greenlaw, London Review of Books "[Sullivan] writes freshly about everything, including sameness. She is a sensual conjurer of atmospheres--writing almost as a poet-restaurateur. On a single page: cloves, rainstorm, peanut oil, ozone, brandy, frost, freezing blood and peaches 'sitting with their bruises'--each with its own tang . . . Sullivan's poems are as intense as Edward Hopper's paintings."
--Kate Kellaway, The Guardian